Free The Black Wing by Mary Kirchoff Page A

conflicting sensations, not the least of which was a new and
     unpleasant vulnerability to the elements. She glanced around furtively for Joad and
     Kada-gan, but the nyphids were gone.
    “Look at those goose bumps! You must be freezing!” cried the woman, dropping her packages
     in the snow. She shrugged off her shawl and draped it around Khisanth's naked,
     dark-skinned shoulders. So this is what cold feels like, the black
     dragon-turned-young-woman thought. She looked down at her new, shivering form, barely
     covered by the shawl. Soft flakes of snow drifted onto her warm brown skin and melted into
     rivulets.
    The woman ripped the ratty blue scarf in two and handed both halves to Khisanth. “Wrap
     your feet in these until we can get you inside and find you proper shoes.” She tucked her
     packages under one arm and put the other around Khisanth's slight but muscular waist in
     support.
    “Were you robbed?” the woman asked, turning Khisanth toward the gates. “Or worse?” She
     dropped her tone to a horrified whisper. “Did someone” she stumbled over the distasteful
     word “molest you, dear?” Khisanth didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing.
    “Are you touched, dear, or just mute?” The words were unfamiliar to her, but Khisanth was
     somehow certain she had been called stupid. She was conjuring up a fiery response when her
     training in patience came unbidden to mind. “I can speak,” Khisanth managed to moan, her
     human voice unfamiliar to her own ears. It was surprisingly soft and pleasant. “I was
     robbedby ogres,” she added. “Oh, you poor thing,” cooed the woman. “Styx isn't the same
     place, now that the mercenaries and their filthy bands of ogres have found us. No one
     feels safe anymore.” She clucked her tongue. “Strange that they took your clothing, but
     left this necklace,” she said. Her hands, swollen and red-tipped, touched the tiny swords
     that lay against the smooth skin of Khisanth's human neck. The disguised dragon jerked her
     hoard from the human's touch. The older woman looked surprised but compassionate. “Don't
     you worry, hon. You're safe with Aggis. I'll help you back to your home.” “II don't live
     in Styx,” said Khisanth. “I was just passing through.” “If this is how the city treats its
     visitors, then I'm glad I live in the hills!” she spat. Aggis patted Khisanth's hand, and
     the dragon had to force herself not to pull away. "Not to worry. I know an innkeeper near
     the city's edge who'll help you. We'll slip in
    the back way, through the kitchen, to spare you the embarrassment of prying eyes.“ With
     undisguised envy, she glanced again at Khisanth's barely covered form. Her own figure had
     not looked half so feminine even before children, she thought wistfully. As they walked to
     the town gates and into the city, Khisanth listened only enough to respond when necessary.
     She was caught up in her own thoughts and had no concept of human embarrassment,
     especially about nudity, having never worn clothing. With one arm draped around Khisanth's
     shoulders and the other steadying her elbow, Aggis led the disguised dragon through the
     narrow alleys. In places, the thatched peaks of the buildings leaned so close together the
     falling snow scarcely reached the ground. Yellow light from candles bled through oiled
     parchment windows, keeping the dark- ness of night from the walkways. A bull-necked youth
     cut across their path, struggling under the weight of two buckets on a yoke. Dogs ran,
     barking, between the legs of villagers hurrying home. Women leaned from second-story
     windows and called their children to the evening meal. Finally Aggis rapped on a battered
     wooden door that was nearly hidden between piles of empty crates and small barrels. A fat,
     balding man with saggy cheeks opened the door, permitting a wave of warm air to escape and
     surround the two women. The innkeeper